End of Banishment
by messenbu
Summary: "Father, you must let me go to him!" Elevana, only child and heir to the elven throne after her father, Elladan, son of Elrond. It is 5000 years after The Ring and the Evil of the Dark Lord is once again being felt. Elladan casts his hope abroad, but there is trouble. Will he allow his only daughter to risk her life to save the world?
1. A rising fear

**The End of Banishment**

From the Elfin Chronicles of Elledan, son of Elrond, son of **Eärendil**

By Mark Essenburg

Chapter One

 **A Rising Fear**

Author's notes: These chapters are very complimentary. the story is told from three different points of view, so I highly recommend reading them all. They will weave a tapestry of love, hate, betrayal, loss and salvation. If you like where I am going, please review and let me know. Also, I love to hear your ideas, though I may keep those private in case they become spoilers.

Enjoy!

"Father, you must let me go to him!" Elevana stood tall and proud before her father, the Elven King. She was his only child and heir to the throne of the Elves of Mirkwood, which they still called themselves, even though they had now lived in Valinor for nearly five thousand years. She was a willful thing, Elladan knew and curious. He worried that if he gave in to her, she would discover the world outside and fascinated, might never return.

"I cannot allow you to go; it is too dangerous." He replied, evenly, though his heart trembled with fear. He possessed something of his father, Elrond's ability to see into the future. His vision was not as clear as the mighty Elrond's, as his skill was still developing.

In this matter, however, he could see only darkness and he didn't know if it was just unknown, or if it was death. He was beginning to become afraid that he had made a terrible mistake.

"But father, just look at his crystal! His magic fades daily. He is dying! Something terrible has happened to him." Strikingly beautiful, like most elves, she leaned forward on her toes, the heels of her slippers rising from the polished marble floor. All around her was beautiful art, much of it her own creation; gifts for her father. Her magic enabled her to manipulate metal like few others could and the abstract shapes had a flow that both pleased the eye and yielded incredible strength.

The sculptures decorated the study of Elladan. A spacious, yet private collection of raised gardens and benches woven between shelves shaped into tree branches. The living shelves held what seemed like an uncountable number of books in a loving embrace, their large leaves providing natural shelter from dust and sunlight.

The desk the king sat behind, was spacious and also a part of a living tree, for after the great forests were clear cut in the early years of the Time of Man, Elladan declared that no living tree in Valinor would be cut down for its wood. Instead, the flesh of the tree should be encouraged to help the elves, as the elves in turn help the trees. If the tree would not cooperate, then it simply could not be shaped and therefore it would be left to grow according to its own wild design.

He wondered if his daughter was also un-tamable, as he gazed at her calmly. Growing by her own wild design. He was trying to appear untouched by her pleading, seeming that he listened only impassively. But in his heart, he was worried that his plan was in desperate trouble, so he let her rant. It gave him time to think.

She paced now, as she argued her point, moving smoothly among the trees upon a beautiful floor polished from the living stone of a naturally occurring vein of marble. Not a seam interrupted its perfect beauty and even the many long years of elven footfalls were too soft to wear it. Here and there the roots of trees crawled over the marble, looking for the rich soil along the edges. At the edges, spray after spray of flowers bordered the floor and the buzzing of bees gave a slightly ominous hum to her speech.

"So you must consider it, Father. Please. For me.", she paused and lowered her head as a single tear spilled onto her right cheek. She gracefully brushed it away. "For us."

"You cannot be careful enough, Elevana. You do not know the mortal's ways. They are hasty and care not for the trees. By the Light, they do not even care for each other! Look at what they do. The wars, the random, pointless killing. Too many have gone mad and you simply cannot tell a madman from one who is not."

"The mad ones are far apart, the random we cannot control and the war that will come if the Dark One rises again will make all human wars look like children's playground spats. You know this Father. It is why you sent him. It is why you must now send me."

"I will send another."

"Another will not know him as I do. He will have changed his appearance. I will know where to find him, for I know his ways."

"Allow me the night to think on it. His spirit is strong, he will not die this night."

"What if he has been captured? The Dark Lord-"

"The Dark Lord is banished! Bilbo destroyed the ring! It cannot be the Dark Lord. With any luck at all it will never be the Dark Lord ever again, until the end of days."

"But Elrond-"

"I know what he said and it troubles me, too." He rose from his desk and glided to her side. "Please, Elevana, let me consider your request a little while. He still has much strength." Together they gazed at a small perfect crystal hanging from a branch by an impossibly thin and elegantly woven golden chain.

In the middle of the crystal a blue glow could be seen.

"Thank you father."

"I have not yet done anything, Elevana"

"Thank you… for considering me." She smiled, brushing the back of his hand as she turned and strode out of his study. He watched her glide away and thought of her leaving. He didn't think he could bear it. He stood and strode to a window .

The Elfin King rested his hands on a centuries old windowsill whose wood that had been smoothed nearly flat by his own hand and gazed out over the New Homely House or New Rivendel as some called it. The grand waterfall sparkled in the sunlight at the far end of the valley and between him and the waterfall, lay the beautifully shaped trees that were the houses of the elves.

It was a good life, he mused. For almost five thousand years, the elves living in Valinor lived in peace and had not concerned themselves with the ways of men. Humankind was slowly destroying the Middle Earth with their industries and profiting, but here, in The West, the garden was still unspoiled.

He would have been content to continue like this forever, but for the recent news that came from his Father, Elrond, who spoke to him of the darkness that was rising, once again. The power of Sauron could be felt again. Somehow it was different, though and that was a mystery that had yet to be unraveled, but the evil was the same and it was getting stronger.

Middle Earth was once again in danger. A danger that the 21st century humans would not be able to predict or defend against. They knew nothing of magic and either believed it didn't exist or was dead. Very few practiced any magic at all and those few were in fringe groups that usually got almost no respect.

Something would have to be done. Even the 21st century human race, with all their technology, bombs and war machines would be unable to fight against massive armies of blood hungry, savage orc hoards driven by the undead. And if someone ever found the dragons, well, he shuddered as he banished the thought.

But it could not be denied. Someone in the world of men, had discovered something that should have been left undiscovered. He didn't think they knew what they held, but the possibility remained, however remote, that the old knowledge was in the hands of someone who had some skills. Someone who probably had no idea what they were playing at.

If it was someone who knew what it was and how to use it, that could be disastrous.

Could he send his daughter into the middle of that uncertainty? Elladan felt sure in his heart that he could not risk her, but could he stop her, remained the question.

AUTHORS NOTES:

If you haven't figured it out yet, (and I am sure you have) I placed this in the here and now. Where is Valinor? In the West... somewhere. Elves do not have to be seen if they don't want to; they are magic, after all. I love it where Tolkien suggests in The Hobbit that Hobbits are so quiet and careful that you and I probably wouldn't even notice them.

Since we are helpless against a magical threat, Elladan feels that humankind is no defense. Knowing the danger, he cannot just stand by and let us get slaughtered. But first, he needs to know what he is dealing with.

Up next? A little history. I am finishing up a flashback to the day the Black Tower fell. What didn't get destroyed, that day. Make sure you follow me to get that update and don't forget to give me a review, so I know how I am doing.

thank you, My Faithful Reader. This is for you.


	2. The One That Got Away

**The End of Banishment**

From the Elfin Chronicles of Elledan, son of Elrond, son of **Eärendil**

By Mark Essenburg

Chapter Two

 **The One that Got Away**

Author's notes: These chapters are very complimentary. the story is told from three different points of view, so I highly recommend reading them all. They will weave a tapestry of love, hate, betrayal, loss and salvation. If you like where I am going, please review and let me know. Also, I love to hear your ideas, though I may keep those private in case they become spoilers.

Enjoy!

...

Morcai climbed the up the last few broken stairs. It was a difficult climb on what was more like a craggy cliff than a staircase, but it was the only way out of the cursed place. The dangerous stones were slick and black in the constant dark that surrounded him. Ash from the volcano made the ancient staircase greasy and his filthy leather boots gave him little security as he slowly ascended, so he used his empty hand to help pull himself up. Little did he know, as he struggled up, that Bilbo and Sam had struggled down the very same staircase just a few days before him.

He was a tall man. His body rippled with toned muscles beneath travel stained flesh that bore a multitude of scars. He protected his torso with a shirt of fine Elfin mail. He hated elves, but they made the only armour that could truly stop an arrow. It was expensive, but it was good and he could buy it on the black market, so he didn't have to actually see an elf. His prized possession, he hid that shirt under a torn leather jacket and wore thick leather pants below. He had an ugly scar that crossed his mouth and it twisted now as he grimaced.

If you asked him what he did, he would only answer that he was an opportunist. Seeking wealth wherever the search took him. Now he was more than a little sorry to have sought this much wealth, and his legs and arm were burning from the effort to complete the climb. His throat was parched and he was covered in slimy black soot caked with bone dry dust. Morcai longed for water, but couldn't risk stopping on the stairs. Here, he was defenseless and besides that, he had been given clear orders: make haste.

His climb was worsened by the awkward bundle he carried. It was not heavy, but the cloth wrapping was coming loose from the last few days of travel and whatever was inside was smooth and tended to move around. He dared not to tamper with the wrappings. Not while he was still basically in Mordor, that's for sure.

With the last of his strength, he reached the top, flung the bundle ahead of him and coughed spasmodically as he rolled onto the landing. He lay there for a moment, sucking in the moderately fresh air and coughing until he retched with each breath. He poured some water into his mouth and spat out the filth caked inside.

"How can anything live in that place?" he thought. As a human, he was much more affected by the poisonous air than any orc or goblin. There were, in fact, several goblins coming up the stairs behind him, but they didn't worry him. Though he was glad to be leaving the Black Land behind him, after the briefest of visits which he sincerely hoped was his last, he was here on Tower business. He had to pay his debt.

"And this; my reward." He muttered, "More work." He gathered up his bundle again and heaved himself to his feet. Swaying slightly, he took one last look at the blasted earth behind him. It was the most wretched place in all of Middle Earth and he had just come from the very center of it.

As he looked, amazed, the hoards were still pouring through the black gate, to confront the heroes from the West. A pitiful scrap of an army. Nothing but the wounded survivors of the brutal attacks Sauron had delivered to the West. Men from Gondor. Elves from the various forests that Elves like to cower in and a smattering of Dwarves, charlatans, magicians and the other varied but few beasts who could still manage to fight for the light.

He spat again.

It was a waste of life, but he didn't care. Life was full of waste. Much like the cesspool the hoard was now leaving behind, in Mordor. Dead orcs, killed by their masters or just driven too far, lay strewn about. Plenty of dead carcasses left on the ground from deer and other game that the orcs killed for food. Dead trees, dead water and killing air. All in all it was a dead land fit only for the dead or dying.

A distant rumble drew his gaze to the massive volcano that dominated the plain below. A fresh belching of flame and smoke spewed from the top and it rumbled with immense power as Sauron fetched new strength from the River of Pure Flame deep in the bowels of the earth.

As he looked, an earthquake shook the ground. It was not unusual, they happened frequently here but, this was a big one and it seemed to be going on for a long time. As he steadied himself against a nearby pillar, he thought that the earthquake was getting steadily worse and shifted his gaze to the tower.

As he watched the tower, the Eye of Sauron, which had been surveying the battle at the gate, suddenly snapped towards the mountain; frantically scanning the slopes like a searchlight! With a great screech, the Witch King and the rest of the Nazgul peeled away from the slaughter at the gate and streaked with unimaginable speed toward the mountain. A sound emanated from the Black Tower too. It was like a moan, but in a tone so low that it seemed to him that the tower was humming. Humming to the mountain. He thought he could see that hum, moving through the earth toward the mountain, racing the Nazgul to the flaming peak, but it was too late.

He watched a red seam of fire race down the sides of the mountain, lacing and twisting around the mountain as if something was trying to get out. Then it exploded. He winced involuntarily, though he was many miles away. Then he winced again as the Black Tower itself cracked and began to slowly sink towards the ground. Crumbling to dust as it went.

Morcai was unable to stand the shaking and with a cry, he fell to the ground, the violence of the earthquake made standing impossible. His bundle skittered and bounced towards the edge of the landing and the sheer drop to the valley floor below. With a shriek he lashed out, convulsively. It mustn't fall! It would be the death of him to lose it so soon. He thought of his son, far away and safe and found some extra strength.

Catching the very edge of the worn silk ribbon that sealed the bundle with a scarred finger, he pulled it to himself and clutched it beneath his body. Even here, the ground shook and heaved and the mortar in the floor of the landing cracked and sent up geysers of dust. The stones bounced and bubbled up as though they were boiling and instead of steam, shot the air with more and more of that horrible, dry, choking dust.

After what seemed an eternity, it slowed, quivered a couple times and then finally stopped altogether. Stones were falling out of the sky all around him but he rose and stood transfixed by the dramatically changed valley before him. Every tree was flattened. Every tent, cookhouse, smokehouse and outhouse was gone. What appeared to be little sticks littered the ground. There was a lot of fire.

There were no bodies, living or dead, that he could see. The minions of Sauron were just gone. Perhaps they had been swallowed up by the great cracks that now split the valley into many islands. And the lava! The top of the mountain was gone allowing the inside to pour out its contents into the cracks forming a sea of lava with many little rocky islands.

Some were melting away; some were falling into the lava, creating great splashes and waves. A distant scream drew his eye upwards and he spied the great eagles, circling the wreckage of Mordor and he uttered a curse. It was time to go. Somehow Gondor had won the day. Morcai knew the end was coming, but was certain of the outcome. Beyond the gate, he could see the western army waving their flags in victory.

That is, until a few minutes ago. Soon there would be clean up squads combing the hills for survivors and they would put anyone they found to the questioner, to be sure. He didn't intend to be around when they finally worked their way up these stairs or what was left of them.

Curious, he looked down the staircase for the goblins that were following him. He could see no sign. For all he knew, they had turned to dust and blown away. Shock was starting to settle in on him. Everything the Dark Lord had worked for was wiped away in a split second. Every advantage gained was lost. The army destroyed. The survivors scattered. It was difficult for him to comprehend after so many years of careful preparations.

He looked at his bundle and recalled his meeting with the Witch King.

Kneeling on the hard obsidian floor of the central room, high in the Black Tower, he could feel the Dark Lord's presence above him. Menacing and dangerous but brilliant as well. Then he knew his thoughts were being probed. He could feel it. It burned like fire in his mind, but he kept himself steady as it worsened and tried not to scream, though the agony demanded it.

The witch king stood infront of him, waiting, it seemed. For what he didn't know. The pain worsened. The Witch King inclined his head this way and that, regarding him through his empty helm. A sound that might have been laughter but sounded more like hissing issued from the void. Still the crushing pain that was now sapping his body of its strength went on and on.

Just as he felt that something in his head was going to burst and he was certain that it was the end for him, it suddenly stopped. For a moment, he could not breathe.

"You have strength; for a man." Morcai thought this ironic coming from a creature that was once a mere mortal man, even if he was a king. Unfortunately Morcai had almost no experience with kings, unless they were condemning him to death and since that had already happened three times, he felt he was safe on that front, at least. When he didn't reply, the witch went on. "You may suffice. You owe the Dark Lord a debt, Morcai." He drew the name out into a hiss. The effect was chilling.

"Yes…. Majesty." He stammered.

"Are you prepared to offer your payment?"

"Y-Y-yes, majesty." He actually quavered. The word 'offer' had unhinged him, slightly. He was used to dealing with creatures he could put his sword through and end any debate that wasn't going his way. That was not an option, here. There were no options here except submission.

"Excellent. Take this." The Witch King gestured to a square object, carefully wrapped in several layers of black cloth and bound with a silk ribbon. He didn't remember seeing it when he entered, but didn't question how or when it got there. He gathered it up. It was bulky, but not very heavy.

"And where shall I take it, sire?" His composure was returning, now that he realized his skin was going to remain on his body.

"You shall take it West. You shall live among men. You shall hide it carefully for 100 years and then you shall open this scroll and follow the instructions exactly." The King handed him a scroll bound in oiled leather, finely wrought with ancient symbols and glyphs the meaning of which, he had no idea.

"A hundred years? But Sire, I am a mortal man. I will be dead in less than seventy years, assuming my good health. How am I to follow your instructions if I am dead?"

"You have a son." He grew weak and his stomach tightened.

"Yes." he whispered, lowering his gaze to the floor. Hot tears filled his eyes. Not my son! I have protected him from this life! Left him out of it! They have no right! He blinked back his despair.

"The sins of the father shall be laid upon the son and the son's son after him."

"But he has done nothing. He is an innocent."

"It matters not. You condemned him when you condemned yourself."

"My name is cursed." He lamented, an unexpected pain coursing through him.

"Yes. Cursed is the name of Morcai. Cursed to servitude forever to the Power of the Flame." Then he laughed again. Threw back his head and laughed long and hard. The floor quivered with the power of it and Morcai shrank away from him. He felt no shame in it. Whole armies shrank from the Nazgul.

Now, less than a week later and standing on the landing, high above the wasted valley below, he wondered if the Witch King of Ankabar still existed but quickly crushed the thought. Things like that didn't cease to exist, they only changed state. He was sure he would encounter the Witch King again.

Especially if he strayed from his orders.

He looked one last time toward the Black Tower and saw that The Black Tower was no more. Somehow, he didn't think the power of Sauron was gone, but he couldn't fathom where it might have gone. He watched as rivers of lava flowed into deep crevasses and disappeared in a issuance of steam and smoke.

Power from the depths, returning to the depths. Once again to sleep.

"This war is not over." He mumbled to himself.

Morcai hefted the curious bundle under his arm, turned his back on the ruin of Mordor and started up the path that led him through the mountains to a life of unknowns.

Author's Notes:

I realize this makes a lot of reference to the original story, so I apologize to anyone who is not a LOTR fan. This is actually a different perspective on the events of the day Frodo and Sam destroy the Ring. Morcai knows nothing about this, however. He does not even know that by the time he reaches his vantage point, the Witch King is already destroyed. It does not matter. In this story, Morcai is a backstory character.

Please give me a review and let me know if I am entertaining you.

Thank you, my Faithful Reader


	3. Here and Now

**End of Banishment**

Chapter 3

 **Here and Now**

Author's notes: These chapters are very complimentary. the story is told from three different points of view, so I highly recommend reading them all. They will weave a tapestry of love, hate, betrayal, loss and salvation. If you like where I am going, please review and let me know. Also, I love to hear your ideas, though I may keep those private in case they become spoilers.

Enjoy!

...

"He almost made it, officer. Almost."

"And you say he jumped?"

"Yes." The young officer was interviewing the only witness to the accident. A wiry, bespectacled man in his late forties. He was dressed like a middle manager and carried a battered, soft sided briefcase that was stuffed to bulging. A lawyer maybe, thought the young officer. A bad one perhaps?

"Jumped?" He asked again, not entirely sure he had heard correctly.

"Straight up. Maybe four feet?" The officer's eyebrows went up and he glanced at the tall man the paramedics were loading onto a stretcher. He didn't look like a junkie. He looked like… an artist. Loafers, well one loafer. The other was on the boulevard along with his, slightly torn, trendy hat which appeared to be some kind of large floppy affair, but it was badly torn so it was hard to tell.

That hat combined with his flowing white shirt screamed artist to the cop's analytical mind. He scribbled in his note book, almost losing track as the witness went on. "Then he seemed to run along the car's hood, but he tripped on the windshield wipers as they were coming up. He seemed to recover from that, but who knows. Maybe the guy waxed his car yesterday. And with the rain? He slipped on the windshield and fell onto the roof.

"That's when the guys stopped and this fellow slid off the roof, bounced off the hood and onto the grass. If it hadn't been for that unfortunate pole, he might have been ok. Banged his head pretty good, didn't he?"

"Yeah, that's going to leave a mark." The cop remarked, still scribbling. "So when the guy took off, the driver I mean, did he say anything? Yell anything? Any reason for him to run?"

"No, I didn't hear anything. He just drove off. Really fast. Maybe he was scared or something. Drunk maybe?"

"Ok, I think that's about got it, sir. Thank you. I'll need your name and address, for the records."

"Of course. My name is Alvin, and I live at…" He gave the details to Larry Techumsei. Larry was in his second year as a patrol officer and showing promise. Already he had been called in over more senior officers in the area, to three special cases. Word was getting out that there was a rising star. He cared not for accolades. He was a professional in law enforcement. And that was his job.

And right now he had an accident to write a report on. Larry was a convicted perfectionist. Anything he might get tomorrow, he would get tomorrow and take that for what it was. Today, he was working a car pedestrian collision on a major street in downtown New York. Luckily it was night, so traffic was light. Still a steady stream of gawkers crawled slowly by on the other side of the flares as they hissed their ominous warning on the slick street.

The flames reflected brightly on the wet pavement. The rain was washing the blood out onto the street. Rivulets of crimson reflected the torchlight back off Alvin's glasses as Larry, snapping his notebook closed, looked back up at him. Red and blue flashed off the glass, alternating with the blood red flares, still spitting away on the sodden road.

"Thanks Mr. Markovich, we'll be in touch and if you think of anything else, here is my card." Alvin took it and turned to go. "Oh and just out of curiosity, are you a lawyer?"

"Accountant. I call lawyers when I want to get rid of my money." Larry laughed.

"Sorry. Just a game I play. Guessing what people do."

"Good trait in a detective."

"I'm not a detective. Just a plain 'ol patrol cop, here."

"Well, you do a good job son. Hope your evening improves."

"It's what I do sir. It's just what I do." Alvin turned away and as he did, Larry turned his attention to the man now being strapped down on the stretcher. Lean and very tall, he had long blond hair, but it was dishevelled and matted with blood. You could hardly see it between the cervical stabilizers and tape that now imprisoned him. He was completely "packaged" for transit to the nearest trauma ER as a high risk for neck or back injury.

Larry splashed through a puddle on his way through the pattering rain to the ambulance with its back doors open and the bright light from inside driving away the darkness. The victim was just being wheeled up to the door when Larry arrived.

Elevated now, he got a better look at the guy. He was a mess. Fancy silk shirt, spattered with mud, grass and blood. Too bad. That had to be worth at least two hundred bucks, thought Larry. Black dress pants, similarly ruined, including being cut away at the knee. There, a large white bandage bound to his calf was already showing a spot of red in the middle.

His hands were tied together with gauze to protect against motion that might aggravate any spinal injury. They caught his eye. These were quite the hands. Larry couldn't remember ever seeing hands that long. He looked to the face. The man was shockingly handsome. For a moment, Larry wondered if the guy was a movie star or something.

"Hi guys." He caught a toss of the head and an eye roll from Amy, a new paramedic who was a fast learner, a unapologetic feminist and as strong willed as a bull. He had said it on purpose, just to see her reaction. It was worth it, so he raised his hands apologetically.

"Hey never mind. I say "guys" to everyone. Ladies too." And he bowed. Amy smiled and shook her head, going back to checking the gauze restraints. Turning to the other paramedic, Larry went on, "Any I.D.? Anybody know who this guy is yet? This man." He emphasized the word man and looked at Amy. This time she gave him the finger over a smirky smile before she bent back to her task.

"No, Officer," said Chuck. Seasoned and fit, the lanky thirty-something was the lead paramedic on the scene tonight. He turned away from the victim and looked at Larry through rain drenched hair that dangled and dripped in his eyes. Larry had met Chuck more than a few times before. This was a new team, but he knew Chuck was a great leader, if only he would get a haircut. "His pockets were empty except for this."

He held up a clear plastic bag. Larry shone his flashlight on it. It was a single leaf of hammered gold. Painted so skillfully with some kind of lacquer that the greens and browns looked almost like a real leaf, but with gold worked in its veins and around the edge. It looked like a custom piece.

"Shit!" said Larry. "Well, if he doesn't have insurance, this will cover it."

"Twice over. Feel how heavy." He handed it to Larry. It felt like three of four ounces of gold. It was probably a $100,000 dollar piece.

"Well don't lose it." Said Larry, as he handed it back. "This guy is definitely Hollywood alright. He will sue the city six ways, if it gets lost."

"No worries. I've logged it already." Chuck was good, Larry liked that.

"Hey Chuck!" Amy called. "Ready to lock and load here!"

"I've got to get back to it here, sir. Time is life."

"Yeah, go. Thanks." He watched, stepping back and out of their way as they lifted the stretcher on a neat count of three, into the ambulance. Then Amy climbed in the back, shooting another challenging look at Larry, who just grinned wolfishly. Chuck got in the front and slammed the door.

Larry held his flashlight up and stopped the slowly passing cars so that with a couple of whoops from the siren, the ambulance could pull into traffic. Once underway, Chuck hit the siren and sped into the darkness to the nearest emergency room. Larry watched it go and as he let the traffic flow again behind the receding ambulance he thought of those hands. Those oddly long hands.

…

"Kareena!" It was the stout head nurse of the ER and Kareena knew she was being hunted. She rather welcomed it. Kareena knew who buttered her bread and getting along with Bertha was good politics. As a new ER doc with only a few months of seniority on the unit, she knew that Bertha would be not only watching her but evaluating her as well.

It was more than good politics; the heavy set woman with the mound of dark curly hair usually had useful information and Kareena needed to know what was going on at all times. She depended on Bertha just like the thirty years of smart ER docs before her had depended on Bertha.

"Asian or possibly Middle Eastern male incoming from a hit and run disagreement with a Chevy. Head laceration, possible skull fracture and a compound tibia. Green 3, some blood loss, vitals stable, 5 minutes."

Kareena smiled at the back of Bertha who left immediately, allowing no questions. The report was complete and contained everything Bertha knew. There was no point in hanging around to say "I don't know to a bunch of questions she didn't have answers for. Plus, she had work to do. Plus if the doc was good, that would be all she would need and Bertha knew it. She strode purposefully down the corridor not even breaking her stride to bark instructions at a timid housekeeping newbie improperly folding some towels. The housekeeper jumped.

As the door to the doctor's lounge closed behind the departing Bertha, Kareena swung her long legs off the couch and stretched her back. It had been a long 20 hour shift so far, and still had 16 hours to go. Reaching down to her grasp her ankles, she pulled herself up and stretched at the same time. The gym was calling but she knew she needed to finish her shift first.

She gave her body a reaching stretch towards the ceiling and was standing on her tippy-toes in just her T-shirt and scrub pants when the lounge door opened again. It was Ken. The other ER doc on duty tonight. Ken was nothing if he wasn't a pig.

"Oh stop showing off Kareena, everyone knows you have bigger boobs than me. What is that anyway? The post pose?" Ken was referring to the yoga that Kareena derived strength and comfort from and Ken ignorantly ridiculed.

"I'm just stretching." She said wearily as she slowly eased herself back down. "I've been here too long, today." Ken threw himself on the other couch and dropped an arm across his eyes.

"I hear you." He said, "If you are leaving, could you please flip off the light? I'm going to catch 40 winks between patients. Everyone I have is stable. Be a dear?" He peeked out from under his arm. Kareena rolled her eyes and after grabbing her stethoscope and lab coat, strode out. Just as the door was closing she chopped the light switch off with her free hand.

"Thanks!" called Ken. She ignored him.

"Car accidents." She muttered to herself as she followed the same course that Bertha had recently traversed. "Cars will kill us all, one day." Ahead the bustle of people indicated an approaching ambulance.

The bay doors opened and she heard the siren cut out just as the driving paramedic came up the ramp and slid smoothly to a stop in perfect position.

"Must be Chuck", she thought as she pushed her way to the front of the phalanx to the opening doors. Already, he was coming around from the other side. From the opening door, Amy was climbing down, hitting the releases on the stretcher locks as she came.

"This guy is pretty rough", she said, "got all up close and friendly with a telephone pole. I think he still has all his teeth, but his head is a mess. I'm worried about his neck."

"Vitals please", Kareena barked at the paramedic. She was new and needed to learn the priorities. Doctors sometimes have only seconds to make life threatening decisions. Banter in the ambulance bay would not be tolerated.

"Pulse 92, BP 130 over 85, respiration 25 and temp 101."

"Say again the temp?"

"101"

"He has a fever?"

"It seems that way, Doctor." Chuck and Amy pulled the stretcher out and Kareena looked at the face of her patient and all vestiges of rational thought dissolved.


	4. Chapter 4

Feeling the Feelings

By Mark Essenburg

"I don't understand how it is possible, Elladan," Elrond said, "but I know this power. I was there both times Sauron fell. How his power can be rising again, without the ring, is a mystery, but I know the power. I have been too close to Him too many times. I can recognize His signature even after five thousand years, I can feel it. " Elladan stared into the ancient elf's blue eyes and knew he spoke from both experience and the conviction of the heart. There could be no doubt about his intensity.

"What are you saying, Elrond? That He is rising, then? That once again, our worst fears are realized."

"No! It is not him. Not directly, at least." Here Elrond became troubled. "Frodo banished him when he destroyed the ring. His power is… it is almost like… it is like someone is wielding the power of Sauron. Perhaps trying to reach out to him. Perhaps trying to draw on that power, but how, I do not know. I do not understand how this could be done. With Sauron gone, I thought we could live forever in peace, but now I fear, this is not so."

"How could someone wield the power of Sauron. Could the power of the One Ring be passed to the rings it controlled? Most of them are still in the world. You have one. Can you feel the power through your ring? Can he still control it?"

"No. I have thought of this also. I consulted with Galadriel and Gorfingle and together we put our rings aside for ten years, just to test them. We found that there is nothing of Sauron in them, now that the one Ring is gone. He is not finding a portal through our rings of power."

"and the rings of the Nazgul? Are they truly gone?"

"They have not been seen since that day. We believe they were consumed with the Nazgul as were all the spawn of Mordor, but-" Then suddenly he said, " Elevana comes."

"Father?" The two ancient elves looked up from their intense conversation to see Ellena standing in the archway, fiddling with a piece of thin gold wire. Elrond knew at once why she was fancied by every suitor in New Rivendell. Elves are naturally beautiful, but Elevana stood above them all in beauty. He beamed proudly at her as he rose.

"Granddaughter," Elrond said, inclining his head in response to her gracious bow. "You honor us with your presence."

"Thank you, Grandfather. You honour me too much, I cannot repay you. How do things stand, in The World today?"

"I know what you are asking and I have not been to see him." He said, gravely. "I wished to go, but I do not believe it is safe but, just looked at his crystal. You can see that his is a powerful life force, still. I think he is injured, but I do not think it is life threatening. He is in Chicago"

"But he is hurt. He is in danger. Possibly grave danger!" She stepped forward, into the mottled light of the leafy room.

"This, we do not know. Not with any certainty."

"But how can you say he is hurt and not in danger? I fear he has been captured. I fear he is being tortured. I fear…" As she spoke, the little golden wire twisted and turned in her motionless hand.

"You fear. Yes, I understand, Granddaughter. We all do. But until we understand the danger, we cannot risk exposing ourselves. If the enemy were to find a weakness in his prison, or if his servants found us here. We could have war on the soil of Valinor."

"That is unspeakable, Elrond!" Elladan's voice made the leaves tremble, slightly.

"I do not fear it is yet possible, but it stands as an extreme example of what could happen. Elevana, you must help us prevent the Enemy from finding out that we know they are active. You must be patient and wait. When the time is right, your Father will send you to help him and you will have all the help that you will need. We will not let him fall. Fear not."

"It is a burden." She paused and, turning to the window from which she could see most of New Rivendell said, "I will bear it for the sake of our people." Then she bowed her head and turned from them and slowly flowed, gracefully, out the room and was gone. On the windowsill, she left a tiny and intricately formed golden bird, perched in a wire cage.

Elrond picked up the ornament marveled at it. "She will be the best queen Elvenkind has ever seen."

"Thank you, Father. I try to teach her wisdom."

"She is grievously afraid for him."

"She has loved him for a little while, now. She has grown quite attached to him."

"I fear for anyone who would get between them." The two elves, chuckled as they imagined what repercussions would be delivered upon the person of a fool such as that.

…

Slowly she moved around her room. It was white and gold and many gold accents. Drawer handles were formed of platinum wrought with gold, all by her own magic. Light bounced everywhere, tinted green from the leafy roof and the vines that wound around the pillars and the edges of the doors and windows.

Carefully and quietly, she pulled a small travelling pouch from one of the drawers and set it on the bed, then caught her breath as a sound at the door betrayed her best friend, Dalinda, who dallied there. She was wearing a flowing gown of green and silver, clasped below her breasts in a silver belt of such fine weaving that it could only have been Ellena's work.

"Do you fly, dearest?" She asked at Elevana's surprised look, but it changed when she recognized Dalinda.

"Have no fear, you will be the one who will know when I go. If I go."

"If? But last night you said-"

"Today is a new day. I must be firm and stand strong, for The People."

"Elrond read your mind. He knows you want to go to him."

"Elrond read the future. And if he has seen me there, helping him, then I can wait for that future. And I will wait, you'll see." She returned to the travelling pouch and opening it began to place things in it from the drawer. A lembas cake in its leaf wrapper she carefully placed inside, then after some thought, another. Dalinda laughed and breezed around Elevana to place herself gracefully on the end of the bed.

Dalinda was a bit short, where elves are concerned. Some accused her of having Hobbits for cousins, jokingly of course. But very long and perfectly straight hazel coloured hair and narrow waist made her look taller, but she is really quite petite, among her kin.

She also laughed easily and eyes the colour of her hair filled with merriment when she did.

"Then why are you still packing?" She asked, patting the leather bag as she let out a little giggle.

"To be prepared."

"You are lying to yourself, Elevana. You should respect yourself more than that."

"I need to be ready! Father could send me at any moment and I wouldn't want to waste any time on packing. I want to be able to be on my horse before he finished his words!" She stuffed a tiny cup and a short knife into the back with some authority.

"Even your Father can't hold you here, can he?"

"For now, he can. But i…" She trailed off and looked out the window. "Delinda do you remember when you fell in love with Ralee, the fletcher?"

"ooh, his hands… mmm. So strong and perfect." She hugged herself in the delight of the memory. "But, that was possibly one of the least wise relationships I ever entered. I don't regret that he moved on."

"Yes, but at first, when you loved him. Do you remember that feeling? The intensity of it?"

"Of course! It was wonderful. Indescribable. I thought we would marry. His magic with the bow was awesome and terrible to watch."

"If your love was as big and powerful as the moon. Able to move a whole planet, then my love is bigger than the sun." Ellena stood perfectly still at the window. Delinda slowly and quietly rose and glided across the stonework floor towards her. She slid her arms around Elevana and hugged her tightly from behind.

"When you go, dearest, take me with you. I want to see this ocean of love, at work." Ellena turned and kissed her gently on the cheek.

"It would be the best way to make sure you kept my secret." She said.


End file.
